The Mafia King
by skullygal
Summary: Based on The Lion King. After Alfred's father was murdered by his psycho/evil uncle, he leaves New York only to be met by one nice and one bitter Italian who agree to take him in. However said uncle is planning something. Read if you want. It could either ruin your childhood or make it ten times better. Rated T: Language, minor violence, suggested things, and come on, it's the mafi
1. Siblings

_**Disclaimer: Don't own shit.**_

**Anyway, all my friends bug me about the Lion King one, so here you go. And if you haven't, read the Little Merman. Also, don't question why I made it mafia, I didn't want to do lions.**

**Alright, enjoy~**

* * *

**THE MAFIA KING**

**CHAPTER ONE-SIBLINGS**

Everyone was assembling in the extravagant household. Their "king" called them in. The king's son was officially theirs today, finally going through all the adoption papers and such. No one was to miss it. If they did, the king wouldn't really mind putting them to an early grave.

The sun was slowly rising in the distance and more cars were showing up outside the house. Some sarcastic soul had started to play the Circle of Life, causing a few to mentally sing along. There was no way they'd let their king catch them doing something so weak. They hadn't been yelled at to turn it off. Yet.

A man ambled up the stairs. He was fairly tall, not as tall as the king, but still. He had slightly spiky hair and shiny blue eyes that twinkled with a smile he hardly ever lost. He was dressed in a large trench coat that was red on the inside, his rolled up sleeves showed that, and red pants with black combat boots. The little bit of his shirt you could see was red as well and slightly rumpled.

When he approached the landing, he smiled at the king and queen. He looked around, then back down at the crowd, and back at the "royal" couple. He raised an eyebrow.

"So," he said, dragging the word out along with his accent. "Where's he?" He looked at the king. "Berwald, you promised I could see him first."

The king, Berwald, turned to the queen and asked, "Did I say that, Tino?"

The small man that was the "queen" shrugged and looked at Berwald with big, violet eyes and a smile. Berwald kept the same slightly confused expression on his pale face. He moved a bit of blond hair from his intense sea green eyes.

"I guess," Tino said in a Finnish accent. "I wasn't there when you spoke with him." He turned and looked at the man. "But since he took the time to actually walk up the stairs and talk to you, I suppose you should show Matthias our son."

The man, Matthias, beamed. Tino always won when they discussed family so he knew that Berwald had to show the child to him. Berwald nodded and Tino disappeared around the corner. The king faced Matthias and gave a disapproving look.

"What? You did promise," he scoffed. "Besides I'm the most important in this room, so I deserve to see him first."

Berwald rolled his eyes, but said nothing. He had given up trying to put it through Matthias's thick skull that he wasn't the most important and that if he said it in his presence, he'd shoot. Matthias still said it and Berwald always just wasted bullets when he did.

Tino walked around the corner, pulling along a tiny child. The kid looked about four at the most, but looks can be deceiving. Matthias's eyes lit up and he sat on the floor in front of the child. The kid smiled, lighting his own blue eyes.

"Hey there, kid," Matthias lilted, poking the child's nose. The kid giggled and poked the other's nose in response. "Do you know your name?"

The child was silent in thought before nodding with a huge smile. "Awfred."

"Alfred?" Matthias repeated and the child nodded. Matthias looked up at the two who were just watching. "You named him Alfred?"

"No, that was his name already," Tino explained. "We didn't want to fill out more papers." Matthias nodded and let his eyes fall back to Alfred. "What's wrong with Alfred?"

"Nothing," he replied quickly, sensing the tension setting in. "Well, Alfred," Matthias addressed with a smile of his own and patted the small boy's head, "welcome to the family."

Alfred was pushed forward and everyone stared as the song reached "IT"S THE CIRCLE OF LIFE!" Then they smiled hugely and cheered as the three men watched, taking in everyone that was there. Berwald noted one absence, placing a mental note to visit that someone after the celebration.

* * *

A man ran down a very dark and dirty alley. He almost tripped several times, but he kept running. He accidently ran into the side of a dumpster and pain shot through his side. He swore profanities as he rubbed his hip.

Suddenly, he wasn't alone in his pain. He looked up and saw the creepy smile and crazed purple eyes. Next thing he knew, he was up against the slimy and dirty brick wall, his legs sore from ruining and cuts along his arms from bumping into things. There was a gun by his head and a fist holding onto his shirt. His eyes widened in fear.

"Where's my money, comrade?" the other asked so creepily and sweetly, you wouldn't have thought it possible, with an obvious Russian accent.

"I haven't got it!" the other man cried.

"No, I think you do. I think you just don't want me to have it. So I will kill you, da?" The Russian pressed the gun against the man's throat, washing him in fear.

"I don't have it! This isn't fair!"

"Life's not fair, is it?" the man who was holding him mused. "See, I'll never be king," he spat the word like it was a bad snack, "and you, well, you'll never get to see the light of another day." His finger started to pull the trigger and the man being held grimaced.

"Hasn't your mother ever told you not to play with your prey?" a German voice asked in the distance. The man stood there unmoving for a second with a looser grip. The man about to be shot wiggled out and ran away swiftly.

The man, still holding the gun, turned his violet eyes and smirk to the German. "Oh, Ludwig, you made me lose my customer."

"That's how you treat customers?" The man shrugged. "You'll lose more than that when the king is through with you. He's pissed that you didn't show."

"Oh, isn't that a shame," the Russian teased, slowly walking towards Ludwig. Ludwig narrowed his blue eyes.

"What are you doing, Ivan?"

The Russian, Ivan, smirked and walked closer, putting his gun away and pulling out a faucet pipe that seemed to come from nowhere. Ludwig gulped as he noticed the creepy aura. One does not simply take out the Russian when he's pissed. When he's mad, just hope your end is quick.

"Well, Ludwig, I'm still a little blood thirsty since I missed my chance with that nice young man. No one would miss you anyway," he chuckled, dark and creepy like. He was close now. He brought up the pipe and was just about to bring it down and end the German's life when a voice rung out in the alley.

"Drop it, Ivan." Heavy and Swedish. Berwald was here.

"Nice timing," Ludwig muttered under his breath. Ivan took a deep, aggravated breath in and dropped the pipe. No one disobeyed the king, not even Ivan. Berwald walked up to him.

"Why, brother, come down to mingle with the low lives, have we not?" Ivan commented in an overly sarcastic tone.

"I didn't see you today. I called for everyone, even you," Berwald deadpanned. Ivan smiled, picked up his pipe, and put it away.

"Was that _today?_ It must have slipped my mind." He started to walk away, but Berwald gripped his wrist and spun him to face the two. Ivan sighed, shaking his arm away.

"As the king's brother," the way Ludwig said brother, he might as well have said imbecilic dunce of a sibling, "you should've been the first in line." Ivan stared the German down, putting his hand over his gun.

"I was until the little _thing _was brought home," Ivan muttered and let go of the gun.

"That thing is my son and future king," Berwald scolded, stepping closer. Ivan rolled his eyes, looking bored.

"I shall practice me curtsy," he replied sarcastically. He began walking away, but Berwald was instantly in front of him, blocking the way. Ivan leaned against the wall in boredom. "Move over, da?"

"Ivan, why do you do this?"

"I haven't the slightest clue as to what you mean, comrade. Now, I have business to attend to that your little helper monkey interrupted."

He pushed past Berwald and walked off, his all black attire matching the night and the alley. Berwald let out an agitated breath and turned back to Ludwig, who was walking over.

"There's a douchebag in every family." The German paused and let out a sigh. "Two in mine. They always manage to ruin special occasions." Berwald looked over.

"What am I going to do with him?" he asked. Ludwig smirked.

"He'd make a very handsome throw rug."

"Ludwig." Berwald shared the smirk for a second.

"Just think, whenever he gets dirty, you could take him out and beat him."

The two chuckled and began to walk back to the extravagant household that Berwald owned. Berwald glanced back and noticed that Ivan was still there. The Russian smiled and waved, even with the sickeningly creepy aura rolling off him. Berwald just inclined his head before turning back around.

Ivan slid his hand to his gun and smiled at the thought. He could shoot now; Berwald wasn't looking. No, he wouldn't. He had more class than that and knew if he waited long enough, the perfect time would come. Besides, he would be tracked down by all of Berwald's workers. It was a comforting thought at least and brought a big smile to the Russian's face just thinking about it.

He slid his hand away and just settled on the thought that he would soon enough see the great king crumble and would take his throne. That was enough for now. Ivan turned away and walked off into the night.

* * *

**Did you like it? Please review, tell me what you think. By the way, I suck at accents so I'm not even trying anymore.**


	2. Speaking Of The Mafia Prince

**Have another chapter! I'll try to update quickly!**

**Oh and in the last chapter he was actually five, so um… about eleven is where this story continues.**

* * *

**THE MAFIA KING**

**CHAPTER TWO-SPEAKING OF THE MAFIA PRINCE**

* * *

_Three years later_

* * *

The sky bled red and oranges as the sun rose off in the distance. The clouds held a purple shade and the yellow sun was barely a line over the horizon, blocked by all the buildings in New York City. It was truly a beautiful sight. Fortunately, one person was up in the extravagant house to see.

"Dad!" Alfred called, bounding through the house, waking up anybody who was here from their late nights of work. Serious, they were working. "Dad! Dad, get up!" Alfred swung open the door to his parents' room. He could see his parents' sleeping forms. "Dad!" He ran and jumped onto the bed, right on his father's stomach. That woke him and Tino up.

"Your son's calling you," Tino yawned sleepily, rolling over and hugging the pillow. Berwald grimaced as the child continued to bounce on his stomach.

"He's calling dad. That could be either of us," Berwald managed to get out. Tino lifted his head and looked over at his husband with half open eyes and a frown.

"I'm the women in this relationship, so get off your ass and see what your son wants," Tino ordered before lying back down. He wasn't a morning person.

Berwald sighed and caught Alfred midair to stop him from creating a bruise on his stomach. Alfred giggled and jumped down, looking at his father with a smile. Berwald forced one on and sat up. He wasn't a morning person either. Well, at least not this early of a morning person.

"Yes, Alfred?" he asked after yawning. Alfred pouted at the fact his father didn't remember.

"You promised to take me and show me the city," he whined. "Don't you remember?" Berwald was still a little hazy from being woken up this early, so, at the moment, he didn't remember.

"Yes," he said after a moment.

He quickly got dressed, grabbed his favorite pistol, and was out the door with a wave at his "wife" and Alfred by his side. They walked in silence for a while, but Alfred quickly broke that, asking questions.

"Dad, why is the house full of guns? And why are there cameras pointed at the house? You know, the ones from across the street and the neighbors always seem scared. And how come at school, when people hear my last name and stuff, they look nervous. Nobody picks on me because of that. They told me. Dad, why's it like that all the time?" Alfred paused and looked up at his father's blank face. Berwald was silent before smiling down at Alfred.

"Alfred, I'd love to tell you, but not now," he said, looking around at the morning commuters uncomfortably. "When we get home, I might." Alfred smiled and nodded.

* * *

_Four years later_

* * *

Alfred knew everything now. He knew his dads ran the mafia and were referred to as the king and queen. He knew that his uncle Lukas was their lawyer in case they got caught and had to go to court. He knew that Uncle Emil handled most of the money. He knew Matthias was the best at stealing cars and getting caught whenever he had to deal with the money. He knew Ludwig handled the most violent "customers." He knew there were people in his fathers' business that he had no idea about. He knew that he was never to say anything about the mafia inside the house because it was bugged.

He also knew how much power his name had and why people shuttered when they heard it. He knew his father, Berwald, almost went to jail while Alfred was in third grade for a suspected murder under his name, but they couldn't pin it on him and that's when a lot of kids in his class started acting weird around him. He knew they were afraid. He knew he hated it.

One more thing he knew? That happiness can be found in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light. During that time of the suspected but not actual murder, he was majorly sad that nobody would talk to him and he sat alone a lot. Until this one kid started to talk to him, he was completely alone. This kid, Arthur Kirkland, was new that year, coming from Great Britain, and hadn't heard all the stories about his family, except the "murder." He still talked to Alfred, though. Even though nobody else spoke a word to him besides things they had to say, he grew happier. Arthur became a friend when nobody else would.

Alfred knows how much having just one friend can help you.

When Alfred started to let Arthur come to his house after school, Arthur was always curious about…things. Things Alfred couldn't explain without revealing the whole mafia thing, which he couldn't tell anyone.

But one day, Alfred found out that the only room that wasn't bugged was the basement laundry room. It was made completely of cement and only had the washing machine, dyer, and clothes in it and the only people to ever go there were Tino, but Alfred knew that his father was out on business that particular day and that the only person there besides him and Arthur was Matthias, who didn't give a fuck about what they did as along as they didn't get the cops called, which would suck majorly, the house burned down, and they didn't play with the guns or money or other things.

So Alfred led Arthur down there and Arthur was totally confused.

"Why are we in the laundry room?" the Brit asked. Alfred shushed him, checked around the room, and paused to listen just in case. The mafia could never be too careful. He turned back with seriousness in his eyes.

"I have to tell you something," he said with the most guilty, serious, and hesitant voice and expression. Arthur raised a huge eyebrow at him. "I, um… My fathers, they, uh…" He was having a hard time coming up with what to say. He rubbed the back of his neck and a small blush creeped its way on his face. "Look, there's just something different about my family that you should know."

When he stayed silent to think of a good explanation, Arthur started to talk, "You mean besides the murder thing? And the fact that you have two fathers?"

"Is there something wrong with that?" Alfred asked, with a hard edge to his voice.

He hated it when people said things about his fathers because they were gay. They're gay and run the most powerful mob in the whole state of New York; their father works as a cashier at a fast food restaurant. Who's the more masculine of them?

"No," Arthur said, like he thought nothing of it, not like he thought it was sick and gross like most do. "I'm just saying it's different. And so are you." Alfred knitted his brows together in confusion. "I don't mean like your fathers, just that you're not like everybody else." The way Arthur said that made Alfred feel special for some reason. He made it sound like a compliment. Maybe it was.

"Thanks, and that's not what I'm talking about." He hesitated a moment. He'd never told anybody this. What would Arthur do? He just sucked in a breath and got it out before he could chicken out. "My dads run the mafia."

Arthur stared at him for a second in shock. Then he looked around like he was seeing the place as if it were a different home. He turned back to Alfred.

"Are you… serious?" Arthur asked. "Y-You are kidding right?"

"I'm serious as a heart attack," Alfred proclaimed. Arthur was still a little doubtful, but Alfred told him many times it was true.

"Should… Should you be telling me this?" he asked, worry lacing his tone. Alfred sighed, leaning against the washing machine.

"I'm not supposed to, but I thought, you know, maybe I could trust you." His tone was hopeful as was his expression. "But I swear to God, if you so much as tell a soul…" Arthur's eyes widened in fear. "Don't worry. I'd just have the lazy bum up stairs steal your family's car. I wouldn't tell him why though because I would've broken the first rule of the mob. Besides, I wouldn't kill you, or tell one of my family members to kill you. I'm not that kind of person. I might be one day, but not now because I'm still an innocent kid who couldn't stand to see his best friend gone."

Arthur looked relieved and smiled at Alfred. "I wouldn't tell anyone. I won't. I promise."

"Not just any promise," Alfred commanded. "Pinky promise?"

Arthur rolled his eyes but held his hand in fist with just his pinky extended. Alfred did the same and locked their pinkies together. Arthur looked at him with the same serious expression as Alfred had moments ago.

"Pinky promise," he mumbled with a slightly pink face. He broke the contact and smiled. "So what's it like being in the mafia?"

"Well, I, um, I'm not in the mafia yet," Alfred explained. "My fathers won't let me join 'til I'm at least in tenth grade at, like, the end of the year. But I'm being taught everything about it. Like how you shouldn't rip someone off because then your business and stuff goes down." Arthur nodded. "My dads are practically the kings of the New York mob."

"So, uh," Arthur started, looking a little embarrassed, "did your dad actually kill the man or…?" he trailed off.

"I don't think he did. I mean, I would have at least heard him talking with my dad about it. Or maybe even to Matthias. And he'd have to have a reason to. I think the guy only did business with us once and that was almost a year before the murder and my dads were never pissy when that happened. I guess it must've been someone else."

"Oh," Arthur said. "Well, you'd know if it was. Those stupid assholes in class were actually scared of you." Alfred grinned.

"Yeah, like I killed the man. Hell-o, I was only like seven; I was just figuring out my dads' work." He rolled his eyes. "Besides, does this face," he ran a hand down one of his cheeks with a super sweet face, "look like it belongs to a killer?"

"Of course not. It's more like a psycho," Arthur snickered.

"I was talking about my face, not yours," Alfred teased. Arthur held his hand to his mouth in mock offense.

That was how they spent most of the day, in the laundry room, talking about the mob and making fun of each other until Arthur's mom came to pick him up. One thing stuck in Alfred's mind about that day: Arthur hadn't cared. He was shocked, yeah, but just finding out your best friend was a mafia prince is a little surprising, but other than that, Arthur still acted as if Alfred wasn't involved in the mob.

Alfred had chosen the right person to tell.

* * *

**So, what do you think? Review. Oh, by the way, I am doing a Beauty and the Beast fic as well so it may take a while for updates because I have to alternate, but I'll try to be quick. **


	3. Don't Trust Uncle Ivan

_**Disclaimer: I don't own shit. **_

**Here's another chapter! Enjoy~**

* * *

**THE MAFIA KING**

**CHAPTER THREE-DON'T TRUST UNCLE IVAN**

Today was the day. Alfred's father was giving him a tour of all of New York or, as Berwald put it, his kingdom. Not just New York City, the whole state. He was so excited that he woke up before sun rise and stomped into his fathers' room like he had years previous.

"DAAAAD!" he called, rushing to the bed and nudging his father awake. Berwald groaned and rolled over with a small smile at his child.

"Give me five minutes," he mumbled, sleepily.

Alfred huffed but obliged. Berwald sighed inwardly as the door to his room closed and rolled over for a couple more seconds of sleep. But right as he was about to fall asleep again, Tino pushed him.

"Get up," he ordered. "You promised our son you would."

Berwald heaved another sigh before getting up from the comfy bed and onto the cold floor. He quickly changed into his normal attire for days in New York: black suit with a loose black tie, badass sunglasses (you know the ones), and a wave of don't-fuck-with-me-asshole-because-I-run-the-mafia aura. Picking up his two favorite guns and expertly hiding them in his outfit, he walked out the door and into the kitchen where his son sat eating Fruit Loops.

"Hey," Berwald said, grabbing a bowl, spoon, and the Fruit Loops.

Alfred beamed over at him, a small trickle of milk sliding down his chin. His father rolled his eyes as he poured the milk into his cereal. His appearance wasn't exactly screaming "THE KING OF THE MAFIA OVER HERE EVERYBODY!" as he ate some of the colorful circles.

"Dad," Alfred said with another smile, "are you really going to show me _all_ of New York?" His father nodded between eating. Alfred's eyes widened and he stopped chewing for a second. "How are we going to do that?"

"Well, if I drove like Matthias, we'd be able to do it in one day," Berwald explained. "But since I don't, we'll find a hotel somewhere." He paused to eat another spoon full. "We've only toured the palace, haven't we?" Since New York was the kingdom in Berwald's mind, he called New York City "the palace".

"Yes."

"Alright, no need to do that again." He looked over at Alfred. "Where do you want to go first?"

Alfred thought about this while he ate. He hadn't gone out of New York City, but he knew everywhere else in the state as well, not only from school, but from his parents and their business. Matthias would always complain about some of the jobs for a moment before he was shushed and reminded about the bugs. And there were plenty of maps lying around the house.

"Can we go to St. Lawrence first?"

Berwald cringed a little, but eventually said with a smile, "Sure, but that's a long drive. It's on the top half of the state and we're at the bottom."

"It's okay, I don't care about the drive," Alfred commented with a flick of his wrist holding the spoon, flinging milk on the table. "Besides, we'd have to go there eventually, so why not now?"

"Fine." His dad shrugged and lifted the bowl to his lips before downing the milk. "Now finish up your cereal, we have a long day ahead of us." Alfred grinned and ate fast.

* * *

After making a stop somewhere around Fulton and Montgomery for lunch, they drove with the aroma of McDonald's swirling around them and Bon Jovi's You Give Love a Bad Name was pouring through the speakers. Every now and then Berwald would point a place out or stop for them to see it, places he felt he needed to point out because of what they were.

"Dad?" Alfred began, but stopped. His father glanced over expectantly. "Why does Uncle Ivan never come over?" His father turned back to the road, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter.

"Because he's an evil son of-" Berwald stopped what he was saying abruptly. His child didn't need to know the bond between the brothers was a very, very bad one. He took a moment to take a drink of his soda and think before answering. "Well, your uncle likes to be by himself."

"But doesn't he have people with him?"

"Yes, but that's his part of the mob," Berwald answered slowly.

"He's part of the mob?"

"He's not part of our mob," he blurted. "He, um, he does his own business with his own customers. I allow it only because he's my brother or else he'd either be part of my mob or dead." _And because mother told me not to kill him,_ he thought, but kept that to himself.

"Oh," Alfred said, sounding a little disappointed. "Well, that's too bad. Why be by himself when he could be with the best mafia king ever?" Berwald grinned and bit into one of his fries, pointing it at Alfred.

"You better believe it," he chuckled. Alfred beamed, fixed his glasses, and started to eat his lunch. "Oh and Alfred? Uncle Ivan isn't very trustworthy. Just remember that, alright?" Alfred nodded, continuing to slurp his Pepsi.

* * *

Well, by the time they got there-they stopped a lot to see things by the way- it was around five. Berwald showed him around the top part of New York, getting closer to where they stopped for lunch as they went. As they finished with about half of the state, Alfred started to doze off. Checking the time, Berwald sighed and found the closest and nicest hotel. He checked in, persuading (read threatening) the man at the desk it would be lovely if they got a room (read "If we don't get a room right now, you might not have a life. Put the phone down, the police won't save you from the fucking mafia."). When the man timidly gave Berwald a key, he smiled and thanked him before leading his child upstairs. Alfred was barely awake and collapsed onto the bed once they got to the room.

Berwald leaned against the wall and checked his phone. Three messages and a voice mail. He checked the messages: one about Matthias losing a couple hundred bucks while doing his part (i.e. jacking a car), a customer refusing to pay up, and Matthias breaking the table in the kitchen _again_. He sighed and thought about how to make the dumbass sorry about losing money and breaking the table. He was why the mafia couldn't have nice things. Onto the voicemail. It was from Tino.

"Hey, I already made Matthias sorry, so don't worry…" Berwald smirked. "Also, can you make sure the newer guys know that prostitutes are only in their rooms for the night, not the week?" He suppressed a chuckle at his "wife's" tone. "I mean, goddamnit! I'm tired of hearing what they do and seeing the whores in barely anything in the living room! I prefer it to be clean and free of stupid bitches that basically sex it up any chance they get! For fuck's sake," he heard a noise and Tino's voice get muffled, "what do you want?" There was a pause before the voice returned. "Gotta' go, there's business I need to take care of. Have fun baby cakes."

Berwald chuckled at the name and put his phone away. He glanced at the sound asleep Alfred and smiled. He went over to the bed and laid down for some sleep.

* * *

As they drove through a completely abandoned town of no real importance the next day, the Imperil March sounded from the iPhone in the cup holder. Alfred glanced at it and turned to his father who was already reaching for it, not taking his eyes off the road. He gazed at who it was before answering, putting it on speaker phone, and setting it back in the cup holder.

"What is it, Ludwig?" Berwald sighed.

"Just keeping you updated," the slightly staticky voice of Ludwig answered.

"Alright, I'll call back in a second." He hung up, pulled over on the empty street, and got out, followed by Alfred. "Have I taught you how to shoot yet, Al?"

"No," Alfred answered with excitement.

Berwald smiled and walked over to an abandoned building, holding the door open for his son. Inside the building was dark and dusty. His father crossed to one side of the room and pulled something out of his pocket. He hung it onto the wall and walked back to his son. There was a picture of Ludwig pinned to the wall.

"Now, before we shoot our favorite chaperone," Berwald stated and Alfred laughed, "we need to go over gun safety and such." He pulled out a shiny black gun, engraved with the family's sigil. Alfred's eyes widened as he reached out to touch it before getting his hand swatted away. "No, no. This is _my_ gun. This," he pulled out a smaller gun that shined not as bright as his dad's, "is yours."

Alfred grabbed the gun and smiled at it. Yes, it was smaller, but not by much and even though it didn't shine nearly as bright, at least it was shining. It had the same sigil and Alfred ran his hand over it. He wrapped a hand around the grip and laid a finger cautiously over the trigger. He looked up at his dad and beamed.

"Alright, first rule of gun safety," Berwald began with a smirk, "don't piss me off."

They quickly went over gun safety, how to use the gun, and reviewed everything in ten minutes before Berwald called Ludwig back on face time. He answered immediately and was surprised as a gunshot rung out before any words.

"Hi," Berwald said.

"What are you doing?" the German asked. Berwald spun the phone to Alfred who was pointing a gun at the picture on the wall. "Is he shooting a picture of me?"

"I'm teaching my son how to shoot and yes it is," Berwald answered and didn't turn the phone around as Alfred shot one more time, making Ludwig wince as the bullet hit the picture in the forehead. "As you were saying earlier…"

The phone turned and his father made a motion for Alfred to stop. He shot once more before putting the gun by his side. The two spoke for a while and Alfred idly ran his hands over the gun, sighing. Berwald glanced over and smiled.

"Hey," he whispered, not drawing the attention of Ludwig, who rambled about some business drama.

Alfred looked up. Berwald motioned for him to shoot. His son grinned and pulled the gun up. Aiming straight between the eyes, he pulled the trigger and the sound filled the room. Ludwig jumped and looked around the place he was in before staring at a highly amused Berwald and his sniggering son.

"If you weren't my boss…"

The two were both laughing now and giving high-fives. Ludwig rolled his eyes at them.

"C'mon, Luddy," Alfred snickered. "That was funny, admit it!" Ludwig sighed and turned from the two to speak with someone else.

"Nice job, Alfred," Berwald complimented, making Alfred beam. "Next time, you shoul-"

"Berwald!" an alarmed tone called. He whipped his head back to the phone and saw Tino in the screen, pushing Ludwig back. "Bad Touch! In the palace!"

Berwald went completely serious. "Get someone to come here immediately for Al." Tino nodded and went off the screen. "Somebody in the area?"

"No, sire, they're all out on business," Ludwig responded. "Closest is Matt."

"How far?" Ludwig turned and talked with Tino for a second before answering.

"Two, maybe three, blocks away."

"Alright," Berwald answered and turned to Alfred. "I have to go kick some ass. Wait here for Matt." Alfred pouted and looked up at his dad with puppy-dog eyes.

"Can't I come with?"

"No, son," he said. "Stay here. Bye." He sprinted out of the door with his gun and phone.

Alfred plopped onto the dusty floor with a sigh and a roll of his eyes. Of course he couldn't come. He never went anywhere with his father due to business and such. He glared back at the picture and raised his gun. He shot straight in one of the eyes. Then the other. Then his mouth. And his shoulder. And his chest.

He was out of bullets now and bitter.

The door opened up and Matthias came rushing in. He watched the sullen boy for a moment before sitting next to him and taking the gun from him.

"What's wrong?" he asked with concern in his voice. Alfred looked up with his lower lip jutted out.

"I never get to go anywhere."

Matthias smiled, flipping the gun over in his hand before handing it back. He patted Alfred's head before standing and helping the younger up as well. They walked out of the door and into Matthais's new Nissan that was obviously stolen.

"Alfred," he said as he started up the engine. The boy looked over with the same pout. "One day you'll be king then you can shoot those idiotic, mangy, stupid failures from dawn until dusk." Alfred smiled lightly. "Now, let's drive!"

* * *

When they arrived home, no one was there except them. Matthias still had some business to attend to and left. Alfred lay around for a while before getting up and walking out on the streets. Then he had an idea. Even though Ivan didn't come over, they went to Ivan's every once in a while. So he changed direction and started walking that way.

As he did, he felt his phone vibrate. He pulled it out and saw it was a text from his father. _Sorry I had to leave early. We'll continue soon. Anyway, let's talk about something I forgot to mention. Everywhere in New York is our kingdom. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise._

All Alfred could think of was _Wow_ so that's what he sent.

_Yes. A king's time as ruler rises and falls like the sun. One day, the sun will set on my time and rise with you as the new king. You need to know everything and I'll explain it all._

Even though that text was a little depressing, Alfred smiled. _And al of NY will b mine?_

_Yes everything._

_Everything._ He paused and glanced around. He knew better than anyone where everything was. He was in the Bronx now. Had he been walking that long? Wait a moment. None of them ever did business here. _Wat about th Bronx?_

_That's Ivan's place. Never go there alone._ Alfred raised an eyebrow. What's so bad about it?

_But i thot a king cod do watever he want._

_There's more to being a king than getting your way all the time._

_Thers more?_

_Of course, what do you think I do all day?_ Alfred was about to respond when he got another text. _I have to go. I'm almost there._

He sighed and tucked his phone into his pocket. Why must his dad always be busy? It wasn't fair. He swung a left onto the semi-familiar street. Always dark and mysterious, shouting don't-come-here, it was definitely his uncle's street. A large house with black paint and scarcely any windows was apparent in the center. He walked up and rang the doorbell. There was shouting before the door opened to reveal Ivan. He looked down and smiled.

"Oh, Alfred," he greeted in his Russian accent. "What pleasure. Hold on." He turned back around. "Get rid of it now or I get rid of you!"

"FINE!" various voices answered at once.

He grabbed Alfred's shoulder and pushed him inside. A bunch of men rushed by, carrying something and snickering. Ivan shot them a glare as cold as his country's winter. They stopped laughing. Ivan led Alfred into a spacious living room.

"Hey, Uncle Ivan!" Alfred shouted with a smile. Ivan looked down at his nephew. "Guess what!"

"I despise guessing games," Ivan droned.

"I'm going to be king of New York!" he continued. Ivan rolled his eyes. As if this was news to him.

"Oh goody." The amount of sarcasm in that sentence wasn't noticed by Alfred, who was staring into the streets. He turned back to his uncle with a bigger smile.

"My dad just showed me most of the kingdom," Ivan hid his sneer at the term Berwald used when discussing New York that he thrust down to his child, "and I'm gonna' rule it all." He giggled.

"Yes, well, forgive me for not leaping with joy, da?"

Ivan flopped down on his couch, rolling into the cushions and away from Alfred. His nephew hadn't gotten the idea, though. He jumped onto his uncle and it took all his control not to break the kid's neck.

"Hey, Uncle Ivan, when I'm king, what'll that make you?" he asked. Ivan rolled over, pushing Alfred onto the floor.

"A monkey's uncle," he griped. Alfred chuckled and stood up.

"You're so weird."

"You have no idea." He propped himself up on his elbows and stared at the boy. "So, your father showed you whole kingdom, did he?"

Alfred nodded. "Everywhere."

"He didn't show you Bronx, right?" Alfred paused with a disappointed look on his face.

"Well, no…" He sighed and looked at his uncle. "He says I can't go here alone."

"And he's absolutely right. It's far too dangerous, da? Only bravest of children go here, or, more specifically, one of coolest and most dangerous place," Ivan said with a smirk. Alfred frowned. Is that really why his father said that? Or was it really because of Ivan?

"Well, I'm brave," Alfred announced. "What's he-"

"No, I'm sorry, Alfred, I just can't tell you," Ivan interrupted.

"Why not?" He was pouting again.

"Alfred, Alfred, I'm only looking out for well-being of my favorite nephew." He leaned over and patted Alfred's head. The boy snorted and ducked his head away.

"I'm your only nephew," he pointed out. Ivan smiled.

"All more reason for me to be protective. A haunted graveyard is no place for a young prince." In mock surprise and concern, he lifted a hand to his mouth. "Oops!"

"A haunted what? Whoa…" This was why his father didn't like him being alone here, obviously. He didn't want him freaked out. _Guess what Dad. I won't be freaked out._

"Oh dear, I've said too much," Ivan exaggerated, putting a hand on his forehead. He turned to the giddy Alfred and smirked. It was too easy. "Well, I suppose you'd have found out sooner or later, you being _so_ clever and all." He pulled Alfred close and whispered to him. "Oh, just do me one favor- promise me you'll never visit _dreadful_ place."

Alfred paused to think. He would visit there, but Uncle Ivan didn't need to know that. Smiling, thinking he was so clever, he lied. "No problem, Uncle Ivan."

"There's good lad. You run along now and have fun. And remember," Alfred turned from where the doorway, "it's our little secret."

Ivan winked and Alfred smiled with a thumbs up before closing the door. He watched to make sure the kid was gone. He rolled onto his back and giggled manically with that creepy smile. It was that easy. He would soon watch the king fall. He opened his phone and sent a quick text to his lackies before continuing his maddening laughter.

_Back here now. I have an assignment that will bring down the king. Be prepared._

* * *

**Yay, another chapter! Sorry it took so long, but I'm alternating between writing Birdie and the Beast and this (also I'm a fucking procrastinator). Anyway, review, tell me shit that you think. Until next time~**


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